


CHILDREN OF GAIA

by VeryHella



Series: CHILDREN OF GAIA [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryHella/pseuds/VeryHella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU retelling of the epic FFVII narrative with one significant change; Degradation never occurred; Angeal and Genesis are still active members of SOLDIER, which in turn has retained its status as a force to be reckoned with on par with the recently-decimated Turks. This full reimagining of the story will follow theirs and AVALANCHE's journey from Midgar to Meteorfall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a fantastic but unfortunately anonymous AU suggestion on tumblr as published by modeoheim.tumblr.com: http://modeoheim.tumblr.com/post/118665432700/asgzc-au-nibelheim-happens-but-degradation

Picture, if you will, green-blue light, glowing like forgotten stars, arcing from rusted steel pipes. Watch as it dances like water and pools in the shadows, bright, wide eyes that speak secrets and promises. 

Picture the young woman, kneeling in a corridor of brick and stone. Look on; see how she reaches for the light, how she cups it in her hands… Lit by its aura, she is beauty and life, the whisper of silk against cracked tiles and crumbling mortar.

Watch on as she stands; turns; and watch how the alley opens onto an intersection of roaring traffic, of lives tearing past, each watching the other faces passing as little more than background to whatever story they so desperately pursue. Her beauty is not diminished; in the chaos in shines on, brighter, like green-blue light from rusted pipes, like the sky after storms; like hope, and all its angels, guiding the lost home.

She fades into crowds; the world expands; and the bustle of life and steel and stone is wider now, a vast, impossible city; it rises on columns from the ashes of a wasteland, this disk of iron and will, a grand statement of righteous arrogance, a power that proclaims; Here I stand; here I shall stay.

Circle by turbines that gout fire, fire that glows with the same green-blue brilliance, but here there is none of that tiny peace; here the light is fury, marking, burning, all that it touches. And there, alive in the fire, standing high above it all, a tower of chrome, of pipes and arches, crested in a sign of red and gold. Pause. Read the words: ShinRa Electric   
Power Company. Just words. Words that raised up this terrible wonder. Words that have decided the fate of nations. Words that rule the world.

Look out further though; look out beyond this Midgar that man has crafted for himself, and see the Valhalla that swiftly awaits him; an afterlife of dust and ashes, of barren wastelands wrought too only by his own hand and folly. See now how its disease spreads like a cancer, its touch slowly killing all in its passing. A vast, empty desert, whose only promise of hope is the distant green that lies beyond, as yet untouched by encroaching entropy, or the cold metallic heart that beats on at the centre of it all.

Vast; empty; save for one figure.

Watch now as he struggles, battles for every step. See the dark crimson that marks his face, the sand that catches in his fine blonde hair, on the dark uniform he wears. Pity the burden he carries with him, in his hands, in his heart; eyes of blue, blue like the light that glowed before, now pale and haunted, grief, madness, tracing every blink, every shudder. Marvel at what little strength he has left, his numb fingers gripping on to the sheet of steel he drags behind him. See the red handle, the not-yet-dulled edge of a sword, tall, deadly; the proud instrument of war that this young man perhaps once was. In the silence of that place the only sound is the scuffing of dust as he passes, the scraping of metal against sand.

Until the silence is broken. Listen; do you not hear that distant roar? Not animal, not in this desolation; another constructed thing, an engine… There! In the distance! A truck, wheels bouncing on stones as it barrels onwards towards him. Watch as he falls to his knees, as it pulls up ahead of him, as two more men step out and approach. One wears the same uniform as the kneeling boy; he stands tall, powerful, imposing, his dark hair playing in the windy echoes of their approach, his fine brows furrowed in confusion, even, perhaps, anger; the other is slight, but walks with confidence, his power shrouded in grace, his long red coat already marked by the decay on which they stand.

The words they share are hard, distant; before long they seize the kneeling boy, drag him to the truck, and drive back towards that distant towering blackness and whatever future it holds.

Take heart. Be strong. Fear not what has passed. Open your eyes, that have seen much already, that have seen hope bloom like flowers, clouds drift over deserts, men walk like avenging angels; watch on; for this tale is now theirs to tell.


	2. STRANGER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lazard Deusericus interrogates the mysterious boy Angeal and Genesis recovered from the Midgar wastes.

**DECEMBER 9 TH, [ ν ] - εγλ 0006**

**FLOOR 49, SHINRA HEADQUARTERS, MIDGAR**

Rooms are not dead things. They are not blind, passive; they observe and carry in their very walls the stories of all they have seen, the good and the bad. And if we listen we can perhaps catch a whisper of what transpired long before we crossed those thresholds. If they could speak, the brushed steel walls that surrounded the two men would scream tales of countless quiet conversations, of hushed questions with no answers asked over and over in calm, cloying, insistent shadows.

The younger of the two men, his blonde hair still marked with dark stains, twitched uncomfortably, the heavy chains and cuffs that bound him to the table clearly cutting into his wrists. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve already told you everything I know so many times now.”

The suited man sat across from him blinked slowly behind his glasses, his face inscrutable. “Indulge me.”

“My name’s Cloud Strife. I’m a SOLDIER. First Class. I was sent to Nibelheim with Sephiroth. Now I’m back. What’s the big deal?”

Lazard Deusericus steepled his fingers and stared over his glasses levelly at the boy. His gaze took in the familiar dark uniform, those unmistakable, piercing blue irises… At least the boy certainly looked the part. He raised an eyebrow. “The ‘big deal’ is how you were found. Covered in blood, wearing a uniform you most certainly haven’t earned, with a sword that has been identified as belonging to an actual member of this company declared missing in action for several years.”

Cloud shrugged. “So I got a little messed up, so what?”

“Start with the sword. How did you come by it?”

“Come by it? It’s mine!”

Lazard raised an eyebrow. “Please,” he said, a flicker of annoyance crossing his otherwise calm features. “We both know that’s not true.”

It had been two months since Angeal and Genesis, his best men, had returned from the wastes, this raving child in their custody. He had grown more lucid in the weeks since then; according to Genesis, when they had found the fair-haired youth, exhausted and barely able to stand, let alone hold the weight of Angeal’s long-lost Buster sword, he had been barely comprehendible; Cloud, if that was truly his name, had spoken nothing but confused mutterings, half-formed claims of SOLDIER status, nothing of who he was, of where he had come from. Of where he had found that damn sword. Zack’s sword.

Zack. Lazard eyes hardened at the thought. One of SOLDIER’s finest, an inspiration to the recruits and veterans alike. Gone for five long years…  And now this boy, this Cloud, appearing from nowhere, with Zack’s sword, claiming to know nothing? It was all too unbelievable.

In the weeks since his arrival the boy had somehow become more certain, like an actor settling into role. His slight frame had loosened; he no longer looked like a scared child, more like a trapped dog testing its leash, ready to bite.

Lazard placed his gloved hands on the table of the cell, letting an air of threat edge his demeanour. “We’ve been through this several times already, Mr Strife .There are two ways we can go about this. You can answer my questions truthfully here, in as little discomfort as possible, or I can hand you over to the Turks and have them ask you instead. And believe me; they will be far less… Accommodating.”

“You’ve been asking me the same questions since I got here. What else can I tell you??”

“The sword, Mr Strife. Where did you get the sword?”

The youth shook his head angrily. “It’s mine! You want to know how I came by it? I guess I found it, I don’t know!”

“Where?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Impossible.” Lazard leaned forwards. “I am rapidly losing my patience. I distinctly recall just requesting that you speak truthfully.”

“That is the truth!” Cloud’s hands had clenched into fists. “I’ve told you everything. How long are you going to keep me here? You’ve got no right! I’m a SOLDIER!”

“And I am the director of SOLDIER,” Lazard replied coldly. “I have every right.” Standing, he rapped on the door. Bolts scraped and locks clicked open. He glanced back once more at the young man, catching his confused, storming eyes. “If you were truly one of us you would have known that the day you arrived here.” The cell door swung shut behind him, leaving the blonde boy with nothing but the silent, watching walls for company.

Different rooms, different walls- this time, the functional comfort of the SOLDIER lounge. It had been designed for respite; a brief ceasefire in a place built for war; but was granting none to the two men currently occupying it. One sat, apparently at ease but poised, cat-like, the red leather of his long coat hanging too still for true relaxation; the other paced back and forth, tall and imposing in his black uniform, brow furrowed. “I know this is it, Genesis. This is the clue we’ve needed. Zack. Sephiroth. Once we get him to talk he’ll lead us to them.”

“It’s been weeks,” murmured Genesis. “There’s no reason to get excited.” He gazed down the corridor towards the small holding cells, shaking his head dismissively. “You saw him when we found him, Angeal. Skin and bones. Even with the outfit that boy’s as much a SOLDIER as I’m Rufus Shinra.”

“SOLDIER or not, he had the Buster sword. He knows something. I can feel it.”

“If he does, he’s still not saying.” Lazard had returned, wringing his hands.

“Sir?”

The director rubbed his forehead wearily. “Once again he’s sticking to his story, what little there is of it. I doubt we’ll ever get anything else out of him.”

“Please sir, he’s been here two months. Give me five minutes with him. He’ll talk.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“So what do we do?”

Lazard straightened up, carefully adjusting his ascot. The flamboyance of it stood in stark contrast to the austerity of his surroundings. “We don’t have the resources to hold him here any longer,” he replied, keeping his voice as level as he could. “I’m making the executive decision to have him taken into the custody of the General Affairs department. The Investigative Sector there will look after him from this point onwards.”

Genesis raised an eyebrow in surprise. “The Turks? Really?”

“It’s for the best. They have greater expertise in these areas.”

Angeal snarled. “I can get answers out of him, sir, I know it!” His face contorted in anger, a rictus of fury unlike any expression Lazard had ever seen on the man’s otherwise normally calm, if stern, face.

“Sit down, Angeal,” Genesis sighed. “He’s not going to give you the boy.” He sneered. “Try not to throw too much of a tantrum.”

Angeal ignored him, striding closer to Lazard. “This is SOLDIER business,” he spat, his eyes blazing. “SOLDIER. Business. Hand him over to the Turks and we will never see him again. That boy knows what happened to Sephiroth, to Zack. We can’t just let him go!”

Lazard glared back at him, his eyes hardening at the mention of Zack just as they had before. “You think that hasn’t occurred to me? I’ve hoped for information as to their whereabouts as long as you have. The possibility this boy represents has not escaped my mind. Why else do you think I kept him here as long as I have?” He turned, walking in the direction of his office. “You’re a SOLDIER, Angeal Hewley. First Class. Remember that the next time you feel like acting like a petulant child.” He strode away, hiding the concern that was starting to creep into his features.

Alone at last. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as the door to his office slid shut behind him with a quiet hiss. He felt exhausted, tired to the bone, and he knew it wasn’t just the day getting to him. Had this job always been so hard? It had seemed easier, back during the war, back when the rulers of Wutai still thought they could hold out against the might of Shinra. Or, if not easier, certainly simpler; there was the fight and the enemy, a cause of some kind. Not noble perhaps, but a purpose, a direction, a reason to fight; better than interrogating crazy young men barely out of their teens about memories best left forgotten. But that time had long-since passed. Even the scraps of resistance Wutai had managed to muster for a little while had been crushed. So what now? What were soldiers, when there were no wars left to fight?

“Lying to your men, Lazard? I thought SOLDIER believed in honor.”

Lazard opened his eyes, surprised by the voice. Facing away from him gazing up at the various monitors and readouts that hung above his desk, was a tall man in a dark suit, his straight black hair hanging to his shoulders.

“I won’t be lectured on the subject of honor by a man such as you, Tseng,” Lazard replied, doing nothing to disguise the dislike in his voice. “How did you get in here?”

Tseng turned towards him, his aquiline features expressionless. “The disciplinary hearing cleared me of all wrongdoing, remember? I’m the new head of the Turks. I may go where I choose. Besides,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back; “You asked me to come.”

“Yes, well, I have a matter that requires use of your people’s particular skillset.”

“The boy you are holding?”

“How did you-” The Turk cut him off with a meaningful glance.

“It’s my business to know everything that’s going on in this building, Lazard. What do you want done with him?”

 “He’s a threat. There’s a small chance he is carrying sensitive information on Nibelheim, but it’s unlikely. We’ve done all we can here; I need to you to make sure he doesn’t know anything, and then silence him. Permanently.” Lazard adjusted his glasses, trying not to let his nervousness show. He had always found the quiet man unsettling, long before that unfortunate business with his predecessor, but in the last few months since Tseng had become even more so, a quiet air of unhinged threat adding to his demeanour, dogging his steps like a shadow.

“And what will you tell the pair outside?”

“I lost two of my best in Nibelheim. If Angeal and Genesis knew the truth about that damned incident they’d be gone too, off looking for answers of their own.  I can’t let that happen.”

The Turk nodded; turned; and left. Lazard felt his shoulders slump, relief flooding his body. He took a seat at the desk, leaning back and enjoying the slight reverie of the moment. It was going to be just fine. Tseng would deal with the boy at last; Angeal and Genesis would remain blissfully ignorant, and, more importantly, loyal; everything would be back to normal.

His peace was to be short-lived. Without warning, an alarm began to reverberate around the room, a siren blasting in the distance. It meant only one thing; a security breach, and a big one at that. The last time it had sounded Wutai resistance fighters had just been caught infiltrating the basements of the headquarters itself. Whatever was happening was serious news. He smashed the button of his intercom, calling out to whoever was listening. “What’s going on out there?!”

A voice, obscured by static, screamed back at him from the speaker. “It’s Reactor One, sir! It’s been compromised!”

“Compromised? What do you mean, compromised?!”

“It’s… Attack… Bomb…” The voice disappeared under a wave of interference.  Lazard leapt to his feet, dashing out the door. Angeal and Genesis looked towards him, confusion clear on their faces.  The siren was even louder out here.

“Sir,” Angeal yelled over the deafening wail. “What’s happening?” Lazard ignored him, his madman eyes fixed instead through the window, on the distant sight of Mako Reactor One. It stood steady and proud as ever, its cyan geyser-glow seemingly at peace, the twinkling lights of Midgar like a galaxy of stars before it. He held his breath. The seconds began to drag like hours. Maybe they had been wrong. A false alarm, perhaps.

Then, the impossible. Lazard watched, open mouthed, as the towering refinery began to buckle, shake, crack; as great gouts of flame began to burst forth, explosions wracking its very foundations; as it was at last consumed in a vast, terrible fireball that seemed to sear the very night sky itself. Even this far away he felt the floor shake as shockwaves raced across the city. He watched, as in the distance fires began to rage and twinkling stars went out one by one.

As the inferno burned on, he felt a shift inside him. A familiar confidence of leadership that he hadn’t felt since the battles of old was starting to flicker, deep down;  it was if the very walls were calling out to him, reminding him of past victories. He caught Genesis’ eye, caught a glimpse of the hunger he felt reflected there too. After what felt like aeons he cleared his throat and spoke. “Well, men,” he said, focus returning to the distant chaos. “It would appear we have work to do.”


	3. REACTOR

**DECEMBER 9 TH, [ ν ] - εγλ 0007**

**SECTOR 1, MIDGAR PLATE**

The headquarters of the Shinra Electric Power Company loomed over Midgar, omnipresent, omnipotent, unopposed; how could such a beast, so confident, so arrogant in its dominance, even dream that this very night, far below its watching eye, defiance sped across its surface?

Rails sparked and thundered as the train charged up through the city. Barrett, his one good hand gripping the bars on the carriage roof so tight his knuckles showed through his dark skin, turned and called back to the four figures clinging on behind him. “Hold on! We got work to do and fallin’ off ain’t it!” Up ahead the sky glowed, illuminated by glaring cyan fire. The sun never set in Midgar; it just turned green at night. “Sector One Reactor straight ahead!”

Despite the rushing air dragging at her, snatching at her long dark hair, threatening to loosen her grip at any moment, Tifa couldn’t help but smile. This was it. Finally.

It had been months since Barret had first talked to her about his plan. “Sendin’ a message,” he’d called it. “Showin’ those dogs in Shinra that folks like us ain’t jus’ gonna stand by and watch ‘em destroy everything! We’ll show ‘em there’s more important shit than jus’ money!”

 It hadn’t taken much to persuade her; Tifa had spent too many nights down in the slums surrounded by the poor folk Shinra had left far behind. If there was anything she could do to get them some justice she was going to do it.

Barret’s plan was simple; take out the Mako reactors, one by one. “Take their power right from ‘em, right up there on the Plate.”

Tifa had been sceptical. “Surely someone’s tried that before. They’re going to be well-guarded.”

“Right now they think they’re invincible, which means they ain’t gonna be watchin’ too closely. Think about it,” Barret had said, a wide grin on his face. “Who’d be stupid enough to take on the Shinra??”

Tifa still wasn’t certain it’d be as easy as Barret was imagining; these were the Mako reactors he was taking about after all. If Midgar was Shinra’s crown, the reactors were the jewels set in its silver rim. Even if they pulled this off Shinra would hunt them down like rats. It would be worth it though; they all deserved a chance at something better.

At least they weren’t facing the risks alone. She turned to the others, her hands still clinging to the rail. Biggs, Wedge and Jessie. They were friends of Barret’s, easy converts to the cause, but believers none the less. Biggs smiled at her. “Looking good, Tifa!” She grinned back at him, heart pounding, adrenalin racing through her. Whatever happened, they’d be fighting together.

Brakes screeched as the train began a slow, curving bend. Up ahead the reactor stood silhouetted below its own glaring discharge. Tifa braced herself, getting ready to jump.

Barret raised his fist. “On my mark! Three… Two… One… Now!!”

Tifa leapt, and for a moment it felt like flying; the train spinning away, the air speeding by… In all that followed Tifa would sometimes think of that moment, remember that feeling; how, looking back, that jump really felt like the start of everything. Sometimes that’s all it takes. You open your eyes; take one last breath; forget your fear; and make that leap, no matter where it takes you.

A moment of wind, noise, chaos; then the ground rushed up to meet her, hard and steady. She landed fast, skidding, knees bending. A jolt of pain shot up her legs; unpleasant, but nothing compared to some of the punches she’d taken over the years. She grimaced, turning back to the others. “Is everyone okay?”

“Just peachy,” Wedge wheezed. He’d stumbled as he landed and was looking a little worse for wear. “Next time, can we have a plan that doesn’t involve throwing ourselves off a moving train!?”

Jessie pulled him to his feet. “Face it Wedge, of all the things we’re doing tonight that’s probably the least dumb.”

“This ain’t the time to stand around yakkin!” Barret was already up and running towards the reactor entrance. “Now the mission really starts!” Tifa started after him, closely followed by the others. Up ahead two figures stood by the doors, weapons in hand. Shinra guards, infantrymen. Tifa gritted her teeth, her fist clenching. Barret was already raising his metallic right arm, its gun barrels spinning into life. “Alright people, this is it! Let’s show these planet-killin’ bastards what we can do!”

“Stay back! Stay back or I’ll-“ A blast of machinegun fire from Barret’s arm cut the infantryman off mid-sentence. He crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him. His companion raised his rifle, but before he could even fire a single shot Tifa was on him. Her fist spun out, too fast to follow, smashing the rifle barrel away before rising to the infrantman’s jaw. His head cracked back, teeth and bone crunching. He staggered away, arms dropping. A second violent blow to the solar plexus sent him finally tumbling down.

Catching up, Biggs punched her playfully on the arm. “Leave some for the rest of us, eh Tifa?”

“Keep up with me and they’re all yours!”

Through the doors; along corridors lit by sickly yellow light; out on a series of gangplanks; and once again there were voices calling, stronger this time. Barret cursed. “Watch out! It looks like this place has got itself a SOLDIER infestation!”

Up ahead two figures stood ready, swords raised. They were dressed in matching blue combat uniforms, heavily developed muscles showing through the tough fabric. The way their large helmets obscured their features gave the pair a mechanical, robotic feel. Tifa couldn’t help but imagine they’d been constructed, not born; they stood before her, horrible automatons built with a singular purpose- her and her companion’s extinction.

Machine gun fire roared once again; Barret hefted his spinning prosthesis, arcing a stream of fiery shots across the gangplank towards the two figures. They leapt in unison, dodging the attack with ease. It was all Tifa could do to throw herself out of their path as they smashed down where she had stood just moments before, cascades of sparks flying as their blades struck metal. She scrambled to her feet, desperately kicking out towards the nearest of the two. He spun away from the blow, bringing the pommel of his sword down in a savage cracking hit to her exposed ankle. Tifa screamed as pain flashed up her leg. Gloved fingers gripped her as she staggered, too tight to pull away, and before she could even gather her senses she was moving, lifted, flying, thrown through the air. She landed hard on the grated floor; slid; grabbed for purchase; found none; began to fall…

“Tifa, hang on!” Hands seized her once again, just as tight as before, this time from care rather than cruelty. Tifa slowly opened her eyes. She swung above a chasm that stretched down into abyssal black, lit far below by the glow, where the reactor had punched into the very Lifestream of the planet itself, pulsating like a seeping wound. Massive as it was from the outside, nothing had prepared her for the sense of scale in here. The interior of the reactor was almost too large to comprehend, a cathedral built to honour gods of dark industry.

Above her Jessie lay, arms outstretched, holding her aloft. Relief flooded through her, but it was short-lived. In a flash of steel the SOLDIER that had thrown her was before them once again, sword aimed for Jessie’s unprotected back. “Look out!!”

Out of nowhere Biggs and Wedge crashed into the SOLDIER. With a cry of surprise and fury he fell against the rail; began to tip; and with one more vicious strike from Biggs fell, screaming, disappearing far below them.

Grunting with exertion Jessie and Wedge pulled Tifa back onto the ledge. It wasn’t over yet. Across the gantry Barret was still grappling with the second SOLDIER, the metal of his arm locked with the cruel edge of his opponent’s long sabre. Ignoring the other’s protestations Tifa stood and ran towards them. Taking the SOLDIER by surprise she slid into a low spinning kick, colliding with his legs. He stumbled; fell; crashed down, his helmet falling away.

Tifa was surprised by how young he seemed behind the metal, just a kid really. Young… And scared.

His face exploded into a burst of spraying crimson and shattered bone as Barret’s arm screamed out a final deadly chorus.

For a moment, silence; then Wedge coughed. “That was a little extreme.”

“Monsters,” Barret spat. “Mako-beasts the lot of ‘em. Puttin’ ‘em down is doin’ ‘em a favor.” He turned away towards the central column that climbed before them. A console imbedded in the wall blinked and whirred. “Come on. We’re not done yet.”

To Tifa, with her white top still marked with blood, the next minutes seemed to pass like a blur; the bomb being planted; them sliding along walkways; running back through corridors of yellow light; out onto streets still alight with glowing cyan and the stars dancing far overhead.

For just a moment the night was impossibly still. Then…

It started small; just a rumble at first, but it grew, the earth shaking as they ran. Then, with the furious roar of a dying monster, fire exploded outwards, consuming the entire towering structure in a single scorching blast. Tifa felt the terrifying heat on her back, heard the groans of twisting, falling metal; and there, in the distance, slow, rising screams.

Barret stopped, turning back towards the sounds. “You hear that? That’s the sound of what’s gotta be done. It sure ain’t pretty but it’s the only way Shinra is gonna be stopped.”  They stood, watching the chaos, each lost in thought. Smoke had begun to coil far above them, fat, snaking blotches of billowing vapour; it would not be long before pursuers caught up.

After a while Wedge broke their contemplation. “Now what?”

“We stick to the plan. Split up and make for Seventh Heaven.” Barett nodded towards a nearby alley. “I’ll head this way. Wedge, Biggs, you go east, Jessie west. Tifa-”

She cut him off with a hand. “Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”

He smiled knowingly. “I believe that. Don’t be late!” With calls of encouragement they split away down their routes, heads down, feet pounding, as if President Shinra himself was at their backs.

A minutes’ desperate sprinting and Tifa found herself alone at an intersection. The effects of the reactor blowing were starting to show; street lights exploded into sparkling shards; cables, broken by power surges, fell and danced, flashes of electricity cascading down; the very ground seemed to dance beneath her feet. She stood in the centre of it all, and for a second she was lost; just for a second, in the midst of the carnage, Tifa was afraid.

A hand on her shoulder. Then a voice, young and sweet: “Are you okay?”

She was stunning; that was the first thing that Tifa registered about the girl. The way her carefully arranged brunette curls fell to her shoulders, perfectly accented by a single pink bow; the way her blue eyes seemed to silently whisper that everything would be alright; despite herself, Tifa felt her shoulders relax, tension she hadn’t even noticed falling away. The girl smiled at her. “Hey there.”

“Hi…”

“You looked a little out of it. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Another cable tumbled to the ground, sparks flying just inches from them. Tifa flinched, reality rushing back in. She pushed the strange girl back. “I’m okay, but you’ve got to get out of here! It’s not safe!”

“Not without my flowers!”

“What?”

The girl dodged around Tifa’s outstretched arm, snatching up a basket sat on the sidewalk. It fell open as she lifted it, revealing a flash of brilliant colour.

A single flower drifted to the ground, settling at Tifa’s feet. She reached down, taking it gently by the stem, her eyes wide with astonishment. “You grew these? How?”

The flower girl smiled. “It’s easier than you’d think. You just need to give them a little time, a little love, and they turn out beautiful, even in a place like this. Just like people, really.”

Tifa turned the delicate specimen in her hand, her wide eyes taking in the gentle curves, the bright colour of the petals. She could almost taste the sweet aroma, more intoxicating than anything she served back at the bar. It was hard to picture something so elegant, so natural, existing in Midgar. In the distance the sky was still alight with orange fire; in the glow, the flower seemed more real, more alive.

Her reverie was broken by the clatter of feet on cobblestones and the calling of angry voices. “There she is! Don’t let her get away!”

Tifa clenched her fists, dropping back into her well-honed combat stance. “Get out of here,” she called back over her shoulder. “It’s me they want!”

A crowd of infantrymen burst into the intersection, guns raised. Tifa ducked, shielding the girl as shots rang out. Chips flew around them, bullets striking stone. They’d been clever; every exit was blocked. Tifa gritted her teeth. Fighting their way out wouldn’t work; too many of them, no way she could fight them all. More shots- if she stayed still her and the girl would be dead in seconds. Tifa stared about, desperately looking for any way out, any possible escape.

Then, in the distance, a train horn sounded…

Behind her, far below the street, tracks raced away, headed for the slums. Without thinking, Tifa jumped up onto the edge. The girl stared at her, her face full of fear. “What are you doing!?”

“Trust me,” Tifa yelled, more shots ringing out. “It’s our only chance!” She dragged the girl up onto the ledge. Time seemed to slow; men closing in, guns raised; the girl, pressed against her; Tifa’s eyes blazing; and at last the train, thundering out of the darkness towards them, lights glaring out. Without thinking Tifa leapt, pulling the girl with her-

In the night-time glow of Mako reactors, burning fires and the ever-watching towering lights of Shinra, the train thundered away, towards the darkness of the slums and whatever future lay there waiting.


	4. CONFERENCE

**DECEMBER 10 TH, [ ν ] - εγλ 0007**

**SHINRA HQ, EXECUTIVE BOARDROOM**

It had been a slow dawn over Midgar, the sun now competing not only with the constant Mako blaze of the remaining reactors but with the glow from fires that still burned across Sector One. People crawled like ants in the rubble, some dragging others clear to safer ground, some more interested in whatever valuables could be found hidden amongst the fallen stone and steel- together they slaved, saviours and scavengers, alike in the too-still ruins, watched over by the constant, towering presence of Shinra.

It was never a small matter when the entire executive board gathered. Never a trade dispute or a customer complaint; it had to be big. And what could be bigger than a successful attack on a Mako reactor? Lazard had not been surprised when the summons arrived on his desk as the sun rose; if anything, he’d been expecting it far sooner

That said, the night before had been chaos. Panic spreads quickly, faster than fire or flood water; it had felt like a matter of moments before the entire complex had fallen into its grip. Countless contradictory reports had rushed in, stories of battles in the streets, claims from infantrymen that they had apprehended those responsible, further claims that they had escaped; there was only one certainty, painting the distant morning sky with pale orange urgency.

At the head of the long boardroom sat President Shinra, his characteristic disgruntlement given way to apoplectic rage. “How could this happen,” he yelled, punctuating each word with a thump of his fist on the dark polished table. “How could this happen!?”

Lazard watched as all eyes of the executive committee turned to him. They would probably be an impressive sight to anyone outside it; Scarlet, resplendent in her usual red dress; Heidegger, in his full military uniform; Reeve Tuesti, in spotless suit and tie; and of course President Shinra himself, moustache bristling. Lazard held back his sneer of contempt. A psychopath, an idiot and an incompetent who hadn’t run his company properly for years. Leaders of the free world. Tuesti was the only decent man amongst them, and even he was at best ineffectual. Of course they’d blame Lazard for the disaster. He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“SOLDIER operatives were supposed to be stationed at the reactor, were they not? This failure falls upon you, Lazard!”

“It would appear that the insurgents… Overpowered my men.”

Overpowered? Butchered more like. Lazard tried not to think of the gory remains that had been recovered and returned to SOLDIER headquarters, recognizable only by the uniform he still wore, his comrade nowhere to be found. It had not been easy, informing Angeal that another of his protégé had passed on, let alone gathering the paperwork to send word to the families.

“Overpowered? GYA HAA HAA HAA!!” Heidegger bawled with laughter. “That’s what you get for throwing money at that freak show instead of training real men!!”

Lazard looked at the ridiculous man, his cool gaze taking in the chest full of medals that had almost certainly not been earned. “I believe it was your ‘real men’ that were defeated first, Heidegger.”

“Nonetheless, the point stands that security was primarily your responsibility, Lazard.” Scarlet. Lazard had always hated her, her narcissism and ruthlessness constantly on display. It was almost impressive, how she could be so unlikable and yet had climbed so high.

Less impressive considering the personal qualities of her colleagues, he thought, smiling inwardly. “Since the war, Reactor Security has traditionally been a position held by Third Class operatives. An exercise in discipline.” He turned to the president. “As I recall, it was yourself that suggested such a use of our assets, sir.”

Third Class. Little more than recruits really. Give them a taste of responsibility before they could be assigned to more useful tasks. Not that there’d been many of those since Nibelheim.

Before the president could respond the doors of the boardroom swung open. Framed in the doorway stood Tseng, dark suit pristine, eyes more intense than ever.  Without a word he took the seat next to Lazard. The president, perhaps sensing his argument against Lazard weakening, turned his attention to the young man. “Aha! Just in time. Perhaps you’d like to explain how your men failed to discover this potential security breach, Tseng?”

Tseng remained inscrutable. “Our forces are a little thin on the ground, sir. It has proven difficult to maintain a strong intelligence presence with only three active members.”

Lazard shifted awkwardly. It had been bad enough sharing his office with the terrifying fellow; to be sat next to him was even more acutely uncomfortable.

“That’s not good enough,” yelled President Shinra, oblivious to Lazard’s discomfort. “All I hear are excuses! Poor ones at that!”

Suddenly Reeve stood, frustration clear on his face. “Why is our focus on assigning blame amongst ourselves?? This is clearly the work of AVALANCHE!”

The room fell silent at the mention of that name. AVALANCHE. Perhaps the company’s only true threat once Wutai had started falling. For the first time a flicker of something moved across Tseng’s face. Anger? Sadness? To Lazard it seemed something deeper, some darker mixture of the two. “The AVALANCHE incursion has been resolved,” Tseng said, his eyes fixed on Reeve. “The group responsible for this attack are not affiliated with them.”

Reeve visibly recoiled from the intense glare. Lazard was almost sorry for the man. The mess that had been the conclusion of that particular conflict had quickly become a subject considered thoroughly off-limits.

Reeve shook himself, recovering a little. “Regardless, surely our first priority has to be the citizens affected by the blast. Even beyond the catastrophic loss of life I have received reports that some parts of Sector One are still without power and basic supplies.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I propose the establishment of a relief fund, a source of immediate financial aid to those most in need.”

Lazard nodded. This was why Tuesti was worth keeping around. It was refreshing to have someone else on the committee who actually cared about something other than the company. He raised his hand. “I second this proposal.” Reeve caught his eye and nodded, too small for anyone else to notice. 

At first the room remained silent. Then Scarlet began to giggle, the Heidegger, then all out laughter. Even the president was smiling beneath his moustache. Reeve sat, his face reddening.  President Shinra waved his suggestion aside. “Thank you for the amusing diversion, Mister Tuesti, but for now we still must deal with the matter at hand. How do we go about locating those responsible for this attack and how do we go about ensuring no such breach occurs ever again?”

At last. Lazard had been waiting for this. He cleared his throat. “Sir. I wish to immediately place my First Class operatives into active duty, despatching them to patrol known trouble spots here in the city. We’ve dealt with extremists before, we can do so again.” He looked straight at the president, clasping his gloved hands behind his back. “As you say, this failure was the responsibility of men under my command and I cannot help but feel that such a failure was the result of inexperience. Committing my First Class division will prevent this and, I hope, demonstrate my commitment to making amends.”

There. He had him. Lazard could see it in the man’s piggy little eyes. Just the right blend of self-effacement and confidence, with a hint of appealing to his arrogance; all it took to turn him to Lazard’s side. Come on, he thought, say it. Say yes and there’ll be nothing the others can do about it. A whole new enemy to face- he needed this. SOLDIER needed this.

As if sensing Lazard’s intentions Tseng shook his head. “Your men have experience of war,” he said, no trace of emotion in his voice. “What you’re talking about is investigative work. It requires subtlety.”

Anger flashed through Lazard as the president turned to the pale man. How dare he? What right did Tseng have to take this from him??

If the president had noticed Lazard’s anger he gave no sign, his interest now fully on Tseng. “Oh? How should we then proceed?”

“SOLDIER is a combat unit. Have Director Lazard place the First Class operatives he wishes to make use of in security positions at the remaining reactors here in the city. My department will take on the task of locating this terrorist group and any sympathisers they may have acquired.”

Before Lazard could protest the president was already nodding. “Very well. I will leave the matter of uncovering these maniacs to your division. SOLDIER will reinforce its security presence at the Mako reactors.”

 This was too much. Lazard slammed his hands onto the table. “So my best men are to be glorified watchdogs-”

“Your best men are to do their damn job,” yelled President Shinra, cutting him off. “Defend the Mako reactors with their lives!”

“The Turks are finished! What do you think three men will uncover that my entire force cannot?!”

“My decision is final.” He caught Lazard’s eye. “Do not question me further.” Lazard almost spoke, but he could see there was nothing to be done.

Reeve had consoled him after the meeting, the others already having returned to their various offices and stations. “It’s a shame," he said, gathering up his papers. "I really thought we might be able to sway them into doing something decent this time.”

 “I think you may be working for the wrong company if decency is something you’re pushing for.”

“Perhaps.”  He straightened his suit, turning to leave. “Good luck.”

Lazard nodded him away, sighing to himself. Time to go and tell Angeal and Genesis the news. This day just kept getting worse.

From his monitoring station in the General Affairs Deparment, Tseng watched Tuesti and Deusericus depart, his features unreadable as ever. He knew what the others thought of him. Uncaring spy-master. Company dog. Killer. It didn’t matter. He had a job to do and he and his men did it well; after everything that had happened he could hold to that at least.

If he’d had the resources he would place a detail on Lazard; with the man’s agenda and hidden captive the director had a few too many secrets of late for Tseng’s liking. Talking of hidden captives…

Tseng pulled out a smart-looking flip phone and pressed a button. A quick-dial tone; then a voice crackling into life. “Sup?”

“I’m cancelling the termination order on that captive.”

“What? Why?”

“First an apparent Nibelheim survivor appears out of nowhere. Now a reactor is destroyed. Both supposedly impossible. I’m starting to think there’s a chance the two might be connected. I want the boy kept alive until we can be certain that that is not the case.”

 “I dunno, seems weak to me. You sure it ain’t just a coincidence?”

Tseng gazed at a separate monitor. He watched as a blonde boy, bruised and bloodied, slept against the far wall of his spartan cell. For just a moment, Tseng almost pitied him. Fate, it seemed, was cruel.  He watched on as in the darkness of his cell, the boy tossed and turned, lost in fitful dreams of half-remembered faces and almost-forgotten sunrises. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Reno.”


	5. REGROUP

**DECEMBER 10 TH, [ ν ] - εγλ 0007**

**SEVENTH HEAVEN BAR, SECTOR SEVEN SLUMS**

Wealth rises. The sunniest spot on the street, the tallest point on the hill, the highest apartment in the block- wealth goes to the top before anywhere else, then, once settled, once sunk into the stonework, starts its slow journey back down. Wealth never moves quickly. It trickles; catches on every crack, every hole in the road; greedy fingers snatch at it as it passes; hands reach, collect as much as they can, gather it to them and hold it close; and the longer it trickles the less is left as scraps here and there are caught, used, treasured, lost, in avenues and neighbourhoods, in terraces and rooms above shops; until there is nothing left but the dregs for those in the lowest places to fight over, die over, in those quiet, desperate, unseen corners of the world that no-one chooses and no-one remembers until it’s too late.

In Midgar there was nowhere lower than the slums and you could be sure as anything there weren’t a trace of wealth making it that far down. Sure, Shinra talked big, always going on about making life better for everyone with Mako energy, but Barret couldn’t see any trace of that down here. No sun, no sky, just that goddamn Plate. “Why stay,” he’d heard some company bigwig asking on the bar’s nearly busted television one day. “If life is so hard for those hanging on down there, why do they stay?”

Barret snorted. Where the Hell else were they gonna go? The desert stretched away from the city, a hundred miles in every direction, and even if you made it across that, what then? Make it to a new town? Start a new life? Barret doubted it. If you’d been begging every day of your life down in the Midgar slums odds were you’d just end up in the dirt begging every day anywhere else.

For years he’d done his best. When Shinra had come to Correl he’d even been excited. But too much had passed, too many days since then trying to make the best of the hand he’d been dealt since then. Hand… He caught himself before reaching for the handle of the bar door with his prosthesis. Damn it. Been a while since he’d made that kinda slip-up.

Locked. Looked like he was the first back. It’d been touch and go there for a while, patrols round every corner, but a couple quick dashes down blind alleys and a hefty ton of blind luck found him in lower areas that even the braver members of Shinra’s army would think twice before following. The bar was dark when he finally got the door open. Damn hinges. With the constant dust everything was jammed in days down here. Amazing Tifa managed to stay in business at all when customers could barely get the door open.

All of a sudden, out of the gloom, a figure charged at him, arms raised, voice shrieking. “Daddy!”

Barret couldn’t help but grin. He swept the little girl up into his arms, spinning her round. “Marlene! What’d I tell you ‘bout stayin’ downstairs ‘til I was home?!” He proudly sat her on his shoulder.

Marlene prodded him playfully. “You’re home now.”

“Not what I meant and you know it. C’mon, if yer up you can help me get the lights turned on, I can’t see a damn thing in here!”

Giggling, Marlene hopped down and ducked behind the bar. A fumbling with switches, a crackle of electricity and the dim bar lights blinked into life one by one. Even the power they got down here was nothing compared to up top. Whatever was left once every sector had had their fill. Barret hoped the blackout after the explosion lasted a while; give ‘em all a taste of what life was like below when you couldn’t just get everything you wanted when you wanted it.

“Did you get the job done, Daddy?”

“You betcha we did!”

“Taught ‘em a lesson, huh?”

“Hell yeah.” He sat down heavily, bar stool creaking under the weight. “Talkin’ of lessons, you get yer homework done while we was gone like I said?”

She grinned up at him. “You betcha!! It was super easy too.”

Barret couldn’t help but smile. There may not have been blood between them but when was it ever true that you needed blood to be a father? Marlene was still the best damn thing that’d ever happened to him.

With a rattle of locks the door burst open again behind them, two familiar figure tumbling in; Biggs and Wedge, the latter looking more than a little worse for wear. “Holy crap,” he panted, clutching at his barrel chest. “That was way, WAY too close!”

“Time to work on that cardio, buddy,” Biggs said, patting the short young man’s shoulder. He too was looking out of breath, his customary headband eschew and stained with sweat. “In this line of work I see a lot more running for our lives in future.” He looked over at Barret, smiling. “We did good, huh?”

Barret smiled back, Marlene hopping back onto his shoulder. “We did great.”

So Wedge and Biggs had made it at least. They were good folks, all of them, good folks who deserved better, but Barret didn’t have any illusions. Shinra weren’t gonna just let them go. They’d have to get faster, smarter, if they were gonna keep this up.

Biggs glanced around the bar. “The others not back yet? Tifa? Jessie?”

A voice from the doorway; “Right behind you.” Jessie stood framed in the doorway. She was covered it cuts and bruises, a red line oozing above her left eye. “And I could really use a drink.”

“You look like it,” Biggs replied, running over to her. “What happened!?”

“Shinra happened. I was stupid, took a wrong turn and got trapped. Had to fight my way out. Now how about that drink? Tifa!”

“She ain’t here yet.”

“Seriously? Damn.” She limped around the bar, grabbing a cold can from one of the two small fridges. “I figured she’d be the first of us home.”

Barret drummed his fingers on the bar. He’d figured the same thing; out of all of ‘em Tifa had seemed the only dead cert on getting out of tonight unscathed. So why the Hell wasn’t she back yet?

As if on cue there was a knocking on the door. The room fell silent. Barret gestured with his good hand; Get down. Jessie ducked behind the bar with Marlene, Wedge and Biggs pressing themselves against the wall. Barret crept to the door, cursing every squeaking floorboard on the way. More knocking. He reached out, seizing the door handle; then with a yell threw it open, bringing his machine gun arm to bear.

Tifa yelled back at him, startled by the multiple barrels now inches from her face. “Barret,” she hissed. “Put that damn thing down!”

“God damn, girl, you scared us!”

“What, you think Shinra are gonna knock? Come on, give me a hand with her.”

For the first time Barret noticed the girl leaning heavily on Tifa’s shoulder. “Who’s she!?”

“Just someone I met on the way home, she got caught up in a scrap with me and I had to pull her out there with me.”

“Dammit, Tifa, this ain’t the time to be pickin’ up strays-”

“We can argue about it later, right now can we just get inside?” She ducked under his arm, pulling the girl with her. She sat her on a barstool, steadying her. It had been a long night. Clinging onto the train had been even harder with Aerith under her arm. They’d ridden all the way to the end of the line, to a rusted-over graveyard of abandoned carriages, just to make sure no one was still following them.  Scrambling their way through had been tough going; more than once Tifa had been certain they wouldn’t make it, that one of them would slip up, get hurt, something, that something would make them unable to continue. But by some miracle they’d made it. Aerith was tougher than she looked, Tifa had to give her that. There was something about her, a delicacy to herself that made you want to protect her, but not while being without strength; she put Tifa in mind of someone who’d perhaps seen too much, enough to break most people, but who had chosen instead to stay strong, and wasn’t afraid to share that strength.

Barret looked at the newcomer. Tifa was always bringing in some kid she’d found in the slums, trying to fix every damn problem for every damn person. He sighed inwardly. Not like that would ever change. “So,” he said, gesturing to Jessie to pass over some drinks. “Where’d Tifa pick you up from?”

“I was on the streets after the explosion, when the men from Shinra started attacking. If Tifa hadn’t found me I would’ve…” Her voiced trailed away, scared by the possibilities.

“Damn,” catcalled Barret, grinning proudly.“ You must’ve had the best seat in the house then! What did you think? Do we do good work or what?”

“Wait… You did that?” Aerith leaned away from them, fear filling her eyes. “The explosion? The fire? That was all you?”

“Hell yeah it was!” Barret grinned proudly. “Showin’ those up there that the little guys down here still matter!”

Aerith was quiet for a moment. She stared from Barret to Tifa, as if looking for some kind of sign, maybe some glimpse it could all still be some crazy joke. At last she spoke. “I know people up there. Just living on the Plate doesn’t make them guilty of anything. It doesn’t mean they deserve to get hurt.”

“It’s what’s gotta be done. Someone’s got to save the planet from Shinra. If we don’t do it, who will?”

Aerith’s eyes flashed with anger. “So now it’s okay to kill? To hate people you don’t even know?”

“That ain’t what I’m sayin’-”

“It’s wonderful, wanting to defend the planet, but you’re all talking about hurting so many people! Is that so different to Shinra?”

The room fell into a hush. Barret’s face was stormy. “It ain’t like that.”

“You can keep telling yourself that. It won’t make it true.” She stood, a little wavering at first, but grew stronger, more certain. “Thank you for helping me, but it’s time for me to go.” The door swung shut behind her.

Cursing under her breath, Tifa ran after her. Outside, Sector Seven sat in its perpetual grey twilight, lit by old bulbs and faded neon that glowed like forgotten promises. Tifa called out to the girl already striding away. “Aerith, wait-”

“I have to go home, Tifa. I’m not like you, I’m not a terrorist.”

“If you could stay, if you saw what we’re trying to do-”

“No! I’m sorry, I just can’t be a part of this.”

Tifa could see that there was nothing she could say to persuade her. “I guess.. I’ll see you around then?”

Aerith closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, calming herself. “Listen. I’m glad I met you, and I truly do think you’re a good person. I’m very grateful for how you saved me. I just wish you could see that what you’re doing won’t get you what you want.” She opened her eyes again, managing a smile. “I have a little flower patch in the church under Sector Five. If you’re ever around feel free to drop in.”

Tifa smiled back. “I will.”

With that the flower girl was gone, and suddenly the gloom was that much deeper, the air that much colder. Tifa shivered. She already missed those quick, clever eyes and that smile… She’d have to see when she could next get away. She could probably do with some time in a church anyway. The scared face of the SOLDIER she’d helped Barret kill swum into her mind, his desperate eyes still pleading with her, begging-

She shook her head, bringing herself back to the moment. Focus. There was still work to do.

Back in the bar things had gotten heated. Barret still stood, facing Wedge, Biggs and Jessie now by his side. “The Hell you talkin’ about now?”

“Listen, I know a guy who knows a guy. He can get us fake IDs, the good stuff, fool the scans and everything.”

“And what the Hell we need those for??”

“We don’t,” Wedge said, rolling his eyes. “I just don’t particularly fancy another journey that could end with me painted across rail tracks!”

Jessie snorted. “So that’s your answer? Fake identification prints? You really think Shinra won’t notice a whole bunch of those coming through at once?”

“What’s going on,” Tifa asked, confused.

“Wedge seems to think trusting some Wall Market paper maker is a better option than riding the rails like last time.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.”

Jessie spun towards her, shock clear on her face. “Seriously? You trust it?”

“No. I trust my friends.” She turned to Wedge. “You really think this’ll work?”

Wedge practically glowed. “I do.”

“Then I’m with Wedge.” Barret opened his mouth, ready to object, but Tifa silenced him with a glance. “Look, we got lucky last night, but by now they’ve figured out how we got in and out. There’s no way the trains won’t be watched and you know as well as I do that they’re the only way to get from here to the Plate. We stand a much better chance of getting through if we’re on board than if we stay on the roof again.”

“Dammit…”

“You know I’m right, Barret.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. How quickly can you get these things anyhow?”

“Well I guess that depends,” Wedge shrugged. “When were you thinking we’d do the next attack? If it’s still happening that is.”

“Of course it’s still happening,” Jessie said angrily. “Listen, after last night all of us have to be in this a hundred percent. No matter what that girl said, we’re in this to the end. Right, Barret?”

“Right.”

“Great. So when are we doing this?”

Barret grinned, his teeth wolfish in the gloom “Tonight. We’re gonna get ‘em while they’re hurtin’ and attack again tonight.” He glanced out the window, ignoring the looks of shock on the faces of everyone else. Far above them the vast, dark bulk of the Plate blocked out any rays of morning sun that those lucky bastards up above got to taste. Things were gonna change. Barret’s eyes hardened.  “Shinra ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em.”

 


	6. PRESSURE

**DECEMBER 10 TH, [ ν ] - εγλ 0007**

**SEVENTH HEAVEN BAR, SECTOR SEVEN SLUMS**

The others stared at Barret, brains still making sense of what they’d just heard. Wedge coughed. “Barret, buddy? Are you okay? Only it sounded like you just said we’re attacking again tonight.”

“That’s right. You got a problem with that?”

Jessie stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re damn right we’ve got a problem! It’s insane!! We need more time, we need to properly prepare-”

“We’re as ready as we’re ever gonna be. We were ready last night so we’re ready now.”

“That’s not true!” Jessie was shaking. “Don’t you get it?! I’m not just putting together a model plane downstairs, these are bombs we’re talking about! Each one requires a lot of patience, a lot of slow, slow work, and most of all a lot of time!”

Barret cursed loudly. “You’ve had all the damn time in the world, now you tell me you need even more? Do you want Shinra to find us before we’re done?”

“I don’t know, do you want me to do their job for them?? ‘Cause if I rush this and mess it up I blow this entire building and everyone in it to smithereens!!”

“Then you don’t mess it up!”

“Then give me more time! Tell him, Tifa. He’ll listen to you!”

“He’s right.”

All eyes turned to Tifa. She gazed back at them, heart pounding in her chest. Even she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just said. Somehow she knew it was true.

“What the Hell do you mean he’s right,” Jessie yelled. “Do you hear yourself??”

Tifa felt her fists clench, instincts kicking in. She locked eyes with Jessie. She didn’t want to fight but if that was what it was going to take for her to listen she was ready.

Biggs stepped between them, hands raised placatingly. “Woah! Everybody ease up! We start fighting like this and Shinra have already won. Last night was a success! We should be celebrating! Right?” He glanced over at Jessie. She looked away, face flushing.

Barret sneered. “Let’s save the streamers ‘til the job’s done. We can have a Goddamn carnival once Shinra are gone for good.”

“True, but we can at least take some time for ourselves-”

“Don’tchu get it? We ain’t got no time to take! We gotta keep going!”

It was Wedge’s turn. He rushed to Biggs’ side, ready to defend his friend. “Alright, alright, come on. Even if we’re not partying we need time to be ready. Tifa, you said it yourself, we got lucky last night. From now they’re going to be waiting for an attack! Surely we can at least get a few days training in, right? Just to make sure we’re all a hundred percent?”

From the sweat that had soaked his shirt Tifa could tell he was right, they could all probably be in better shape for what they were trying to do. But Barret was right too. They didn’t have the time. It was now or never. She caught Wedge’s eye, caught his silent pleading for some kind of respite… But Tifa knew she couldn’t offer any. “Sorry Wedge, but the longer we wait the closer Shinra get to finding us.” She steeled herself, standing a little taller. Time for some hard truths. “We all knew coming into this just who we were going up against. You think they’re gonna stop? You think maybe they’ll let us get away if we keep hiding long enough? That’s not ever happening. You can be sure that right now they’re hunting us with everything they’ve got and they will destroy us if we give them the chance.”

Silence fell for a moment. Biggs spoke. “So what do we do?”

“We do like Barret says. We keep fighting. We keep up the pressure. We show the whole world that they can hurt just like everybody else. And that means we attack again tonight.”

Barret nodded, an almost imperceptible smile on his face. Wedge just looked away, fear clear on his face. “Crap…”

“So we tonight we attack Reactor Five. Keep the pressure goin’.”

“Why Reactor Five?”

“No obvious pattern. We don’t want ‘em starting to guess where we’re hitting next too early.”

Tifa nodded. “Smart move.”

 “Gotta have a coupla good ideas up here eventually,” Barret grinned, tapping his forehead.

Jessie stood for a moment, her face unreadable. Then, without a word turned and walked over to the battered pinball machine, its lights blinking invitingly in the dust-edged gloom. Reaching underneath she pressed an unseen button, setting the entire metal and glass box descending on the screeching gears of a hidden lift. Barret sighed exasperatedly. “Where you goin’ now?”

“The workshop. Looks like I’ve got a bomb to finish.”

Time passed. A strange feeling had fallen over the bar since the argument, a silent relaxation that vanished with every creak of a floorboard, every rattle of a window, before slowly returning by inches, just waiting to be unsettled all over again. Barret had consoled Marlene. She hadn’t been happy about him going out again, but she understood, in her way. She was a bright kid, definitely was gonna grow up a damn sight smarter than him; she could tell what they were doing was important, even if she didn’t quite get why. At least she still hadn’t let this dark place get to her. Would he still fight if he couldn’t come home to that smile? He doubted it. She was what kept him strong, what made him strong, though she was too young to ever see that. Barret knew he’d give anything to give her the life she’d always deserved. Even if he wouldn’t be there to see it.

If we run there’s no way we get outta this, he thought, making his own way over to the pinball machine. It was time he talked to Jessie, see if he could patch it up. Even if we run forever they’d find us. So we have to stop ‘em now. He cleared his throat as he spotted Jessie, crouched over her workstation, a mass of electronic wiring and blocks of explosive before her. “So, uh, how’s it goin’ down here?”

“This is bomb-building, not mining,” Jessie replied, not looking up. She teased out a fine strand of wire, beads of sweat trickling down the side of her face as she soldered it into place. “It requires… A degree… Of delicacy. So keep those big ol’ fingers away from my work station.”

“I jus’… I wanted to say… I mean…. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to jus’ drop all this on y’all.

“It’s okay. I was just scared for a second there. Hell, I still am. We’re either the bravest or dumbest bunch of crazies in this hole.”

“You sure you get this done in time? I don’t want you hurtin’ yerself..”

“Barret. I got this. Trust me.” She grinned, her usual confidence starting to shine through the nerves. That was the Jessie he knew; smart, brave, ready to take on the world if it’d help her friends. She wiped the sweat from her eyes, still grinning. “Hey, it’s a bomb anyway. If it blows up on me I guess it’s just fulfilling its manifest destiny. Where did the others get to?”

“Tifa’s upstairs with Marlene. As for the boys, well, let’s jus’ say Wedge is off puttin’ his money where his mouth is…”

If we don’t have it, it doesn’t exist. That was the Wall Market. For every legitimate business there were three illicit ones running out the back room. Black marketeers provided every criminal service you could want. Every sexual fantasy could be fulfilled. If there was a market for it you could find it down here.

Suckers. There were guys like them in here every day lookin’ for some kinda favour. Corneo had spent a lifetime dealing with ‘em, long enough to be able to tell that whatever these kids wanted wasn’t somethin’ all together legal. He rubbed his chubby hands together eagerly. Just how he liked it. “Alright, gentlemen. Normally I wouldn’t see folks like you today but as it happens a space has appeared in my very busy schedule, so what can I do you for this fine mornin’?”

The fat one looked the most nervous, the sweat dripping off him. “We, uh, that is I heard that we could, maybe-”

“Spit it out, kid, I ain’t got all day!”

His partner, clearly the muscle, spoke up angrily. “We need IDs to get topside.”

Corneo sneered. “Go see the transport office then.”

“We don’t necessarily want to be… Recognised.”

“Ah. I see.” He smiled inwardly. There it was. He gazed at his nails, feigning innocence. “Seems like that’s the kind of service that could get me and you into a lotta trouble if it got out. Why should I provide you with such supplies when I don’t even know what kind of people I’m working with?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at it this way, boys. For all I know you two are a pair of security force tricksters out to trip me up. What’s gonna stop you selling me out the second I give you what you want?”

The tough one gritted his teeth. He’d clearly been expecting something like this. “Alright… What do you want?”

Corneo smiled. This was his always his favourite part. “Just a little bit of leverage. I’ll give you your fake IDs, top quality too… But only if you tell me what you want ‘em for. That way neither one of us is gonna be getting it in our heads to run squawking to any undesirables.”

“We can’t do that!”

“Then I guess it looks like I’m fresh out of what you want,” he shrugged. “Good luck with whatever you needed ‘em for. Whatever that mysterious task may be.”

“Why you-”

Fatso jumped forward, blocking off tough guy. “Wait, wait, wait! We’ll tell you.” Corneo nodded. At least one of ‘em had some brains.

Tough guy looked shocked. “Wedge, what the Hell?”

“We’re not going home empty handed, Biggs. You heard Tifa, this is the only way!”

“Damn it…” Corneo couldn’t help but grin. Come on. Here we go. Just give it up, tough guy. The muscle raised his fist, clenched so hard the knuckles glowed in the low light. “I swear, if you sell us out I’ll kill you myself!”

Corneo raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. This kid had nothing on some of the heavies he’d done business with. “I’m quaking in my boots. Now. What exactly do you two crazy kids have planned?”

It had been quite a story. Taking out the Mako reactors one by one… Crazy. Still, a deal had been a deal. Corneo had given ‘em what they wanted and they’d left, out the back way of course. Didn’t do to have new partners leave where they might be spotted. He’d made sure the prints wouldn’t be traced back to him of course, used a few contacts and a few marks on the prints to leave a trail off to a rival just for insurance. Who knew who’d come sniffing once they’d been caught? And if by some ridiculous move they actually pulled it off they’d be useful people to have on his side.

Suddenly there was a voice at the door. “Knock knock.”

Corneo’s smile dropped. It had been a while since he’d heard that voice. He flung open the door to his office, face twisting into snarl. “How’d you get in here?!”

“Evening, slick.” A thin, crimson-haired figure in a dark suit slunk into the room. He hefted the metal baton resting on his shoulder. “I saw myself in. Pretty rude of you, not introducing me to your little friends. Who were those two?”

“Go to Hell, kid, I’m no rat.”

“Sure coulda fooled me.”

“Shove it up your ass, smart guy. I’ve done giving up crap to you.”

Reno blinked slowly, doing his best to ignore the headache that was starting to burn in his head. He hated coming down here these days. Too many memories of better times in the bar round the corner, the whole gang working their way through endless rounds… He blinked again, fingers tightening on his baton. Times changed. People went. That’s what this job was like. And right now he had a job to do. He let his face drop into his customary sneer. No point showing this low-life he was hurting. “C’mon, Corneo, you know how this works. You give me somethin’ and I don’t shut down the two-bit operation you’re running down here. Or maybe I should turn in a report to my bosses, see what they think about hooker rings, illegal gambling and whatever the Hell else you pulling?”

“You don’t scare me, Turk! Word on the street lately is you people are finished.”

Reno’s sneer dropped away, leaving a hollow smile that stretched across his face like an opened scar. “Guess I didn’t get that memo.”

Corneo shivered. This kid almost used to be fun. Looked like those days were done.

Reno spoke again, seeming to recover a little. “Far as I’m concerned you may be the big fish round here, but you’re still in Shinra’s pond. And that means I’m a friggin’ tiger shark. So give me what I want or I will end you. Clear enough?”

“You little punk, you think you can come into my place of business and threaten me-”

“Yeah. I do.” Electricity hummed as the dark-suited man slowly spun an extended metal baton through the air. Corneo couldn’t help but notice the sparkling glow of a materia stone set in the handle. Damn Mako energy. If he could just get his hands on a few stones of his own Corneo would be showing this little piece of crap just who was boss around here. Still, no point getting into fights he couldn’t win right now… He sighed. So he was a sell-out. Who wasn’t these days?

“Alright, tough guy. It’s like this…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was actually a really bloody hard chapter to write, hence it took so long to get here as it did. After I'd gone and said sticking to every Monday... Best laid plans and all that I guess ^^ Either way, here we go! Back to the story! I don't want to leave it as long as I did between updates but I also don't want to promise a full chapter every week; how would you guys feel about an occasional week here and there that I post a chapter in stages, scene by scene, then repost the complete thing at the end, replacing the fragmented chapter?
> 
> Regardless of weeks where my brain makes productivity and positivity about my work the hardest thing in the world this remains a constant blast to write and I hope it continues to at least be fun to read. The response I've had has been wonderful and I hope I can continue to impress. Next time: getting back to a pair of SOLDIER operatives.... Enjoy! So much love to you all!  
> -VH


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